


Of Lace and Porcelain Everlasting

by Scattered_Irises



Series: Of Lace and Porcelain [3]
Category: Yu-Gi-Oh! Zexal
Genre: Gen, Mutilation, Non-Consensual Body Modification, Self-Harm, Self-Mutilation, living dolls, out of chronological order
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-02-01
Updated: 2021-02-01
Packaged: 2021-03-18 16:34:10
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,353
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29121258
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Scattered_Irises/pseuds/Scattered_Irises
Summary: Assorted stories from the OLAP universe. Whether it be missing scenes, character analyses or poetry, this will be where the extraneous content lies.Imprisoned in their mutilated bodies, Thomas' "dolls" can only think and wonder. As they begin to slowly lose their grip on reality alongside their wayward jailer, what will transpire along the way?And, even in the afterlife, there are wounds that have not healed.
Relationships: V | Chris Arclight/Tenjou Kaito
Series: Of Lace and Porcelain [3]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1663063





	Of Lace and Porcelain Everlasting

**Author's Note:**

> This is a piece from one of my writing journals. I enjoy exploring themes between the body and mind, especially when the mind is trapped in a body that has been warped beyond control. I suppose that was why I enjoyed Of Lace and Porcelain so thoroughly. Everything, from the struggle of the victims to Thomas' descent into fantasy was a delectable study for me.

#  Grande Galerie

_“Mirrors do not lie,”_ said his mother as she stood behind him. 

Her face was blurred in the memory, an amalgamation of round glasses and freckles. She rested her soft lips on top of his head and then pulled away. As always, she smelled pleasant, a potpourri of roses and freshly laundered clothes. He never knew what she used to smell so nice, but sometimes, he would go into her room and lay there, surrounded in dust and her lingering scent.

_“The mirror tells me that you are my beautiful son,”_ she breathed, tapping her finger on his cheek. 

He had smiled then, his youthful eyes filled with vibrant light. With his silver hair brushed back and a newly tailored suit on his pale skin, he had to agree. _He was beautiful._

_How he has come to hate yet crave that word._ At parties, he would be surrounded by his father’s guests. They would all _ooh_ and _ahh_ at his features, marveling in his delicate face. Next to his father, he was considered an accessory, scientific accomplishments snuffed out by his father’s own. After all, he was merely an assistant. 

Even after his father’s return and the parties stopped, Christopher’s own accomplishments were put aside for his appearance. As he aged, he often looked into the mirror. Sometimes, he heard a small voice begging for his body to _stop._ Stop growing out such long and lovely silver locks. Stop growing such slender and elegant legs. Stop narrowing his face and elongating his facial features. And yet it continued. 

He wanted to scream at times. Just to collapse and furiously shout at the next person that called him beautiful instead of congratulating him on his latest scientific accomplishment. Take a knife and cut up his face beyond recognition. Violently hack at his hair with a pair of scissors until there was nothing but tufts of silver. _Then_ they would have to put his scientific accomplishments over his face. Just like the ugly genius that was Kaito’s father. 

Yet he could never do it. He loved his face too much. Its long and sharp nose. Sharp cheekbones that gave him a severe look whenever he was deep in thought. The deep blue pupils nestled in those sad eyes. That pointed chin. He was beautiful. And yet..and yet…

_Could they be lying to him? Was he like the hideous nymph Platée, who had been bewitched by the gods into believing that she was the most beautiful creature on earth? A victim of a cruel prank? Were they all laughing at him—brothers included—behind his back?_

_No, no, no, they couldn’t be,_ he thought as he ran his brush through his hair. _Silver, shiny, silky and rare._ In a world of bright hair colors, he stood out alone for his lack of color. _But was he called ‘beautiful’ in truth or was he merely an oddity like a leucistic python?_

The scissors shone on his vanity with a tempting glint. What if he were to... _No._ He couldn’t do that. Not here, not now. Taking in a deep breath, he continued to run the brush down his hair. _One, two, three_. He would brush the same area until he reached 50. His mother had softly whispered in his ear as she did so, her touch so loving and gentle. She had done so every single night with the same dedicated precision. Wreathed in her flowery perfume, he would forget about his worries. Perhaps it was the closest feeling he could ever have to peace after leaving her womb. 

_How could he have been so cruel to her?_ Four, five, six. _She had loved him with all of her heart, and yet he had lost her in a fit of adolescent rage._ Had she known about his sexual orientation, even then? He’ll never know, but he’s sure she had. Mothers have a tendency of knowing things about their children before they themselves did. 

Whenever he was with Kaito, he couldn’t help but ponder. What would she have said, once he had brought Kaito home and announced to her that they had loved each other? _Cry tears of joy, most likely._ Ten, eleven, twelve. She was always so emotional. _How could someone with such an open and loving heart be labelled as “mad?”_

Tears brimmed in his eyes but he knew that he musn’t shed them. They would only ruin the eyeliner that he had worked so hard on. He must remain beautiful. _18, 19, 20._ It was all he had at times. Interdimensional portals and scientifically crafted cards be damned. He would always be merely a pretty face. _25,26,27._ No matter what he did, someone would always remind him of his physical trappings. Beautiful people weren’t supposed to work this hard, especially in the sciences. _Why was he wasting his time here, in such a boorish place, than a film set or a studio?_

_“Because I love this,”_ he would reply. _“It’s a passion of mine.”_

Surprise would fill his interlocutor’s eyes. 

_“Oh.”_

_You? Interested in interdimensional studies?_ A single comment with weight behind it. He could see it in their eyes. See it in their smiles, wavering for a split second. The slight tilt of their head expressing their surprise. They never expected much from him, with his sad eyes and pretty face. _3536373839._

Clumps of silver ripped out of his scalp in a series of velcro-like noises. He picked them out of his brush and threw them into the waste bin, already filled with previous artifacts of his agitation. 

_“See that it doesn’t happen again,_ ” uttered Tron, issuing a reprimand. 

  1. Clump by clump his hair was ripped out. He knocked over a bottle of cologne and shouted in frustration. Maybe he should just be beautiful. _44._ Nothing to think about. No difficult expectations. _Just to exist and appear presentable._ 45\. _Days full of blissful oblivion where he could wholeheartedly accept others’ compliments instead of wondering when they would ask about his work._ 46\. _All he would have to do is wear silk and smile._ 47\. 



The ornaments choking up the mountain of his hair seemed to jingle in agreement. _48._ A warm wetness dribbled down from his forehead and onto the lovely dress that Thomas had taken all morning to choose. _49._ Finally. Something other than the sickly scent of powder that Thomas had always coated his face and neck with. _Blood._ 50\. 

_Click._ The lights turned on and he could tell from the panicked footsteps that it was Thomas. It would never be his father’s measured footsteps. He had lost hope that they would be saved weeks ago. Before he could bang his head against the wall for the fifty-first time, his immobile body was pulled back by strong arms. 

“Oh, my queen, my poor, beautiful queen,” crooned Thomas, running his hand down his brother’s porcelain arm. “Let’s get you cleaned up.” 

With the utmost care, Thomas lifted Christopher over his shoulder, blood still dripping down his forehead. His deep blue eyes were glassy, brimming with tears. He didn’t register the worried expressions on Mrs. Arclight, Rose and Ninah’s faces as he was carried out. _Ah._ When did he start using the names Thomas used for them? Kaito, Michael and Ryoga...Yes, those were their names. But he supposed that those names should be forgotten now. No one was coming to save them anyways. 

As they walked down the halls of their mansion, Christopher heard Thomas murmur reassurances to the both of them. They were too quiet for him to have understood, but he doubted that they would have been helpful anyways. Passing the staircase, Christopher wondered what would happen if he were to throw himself down those carpeted steps. _Pearls, feathers and flowers strewn across the floors. Silks and lace in tatters. His porcelain limbs in broken heaps. His flesh torn and mangled._ A broken doll. 

  
The sting of tears filled his eyes. Before he could stop them, he felt them fall from his eyes. Yet he knew that he shouldn’t cry. It would only ruin his makeup.


End file.
